


nor think the bitterness of absence sour

by natalunasans



Series: Ownership Enough [17]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Doubt, Gen, M/M, Other, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Shame, Undecided Relationship(s), Worry, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalunasans/pseuds/natalunasans
Summary: while the Doctor is away, the Master has doubts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> another one from old WiPs...  
> posting out of chronological order again, this is earlier their timeline

The Master was alone in the TARDIS.  At first he'd been glad of a break from the Doctor's incessant chatter.  He'd worked in what passed for contented concentration in the mechanics lab, with his favourite music at the sort of volume punk should be played at, even singing along as if no one could hear.  It didn’t entirely drown out the beat in his mind, but at least camouflaged it, sometimes fused with it in more or less bearable ways. He vaguely hoped his music choices annoyed the ship, but assumed she was probably tuning him out.  He wondered if the TARDIS enjoyed having a break from the Doctor as well, but she almost never made her feelings easy for him to read.

Later, he'd gone to the kitchen and improvised a recipe, with no worries of ridicule if it didn't turn out.  Objectively, his wasn't as good as the Doctor's cooking... after all, he'd had more important things to do than faffing about in kitchens for fun!  But it tasted so decent that he was _almost_ sorry he'd only made enough for one.

He intended to go back to the lab, but something a little more than curiosity sent his steps to the Doctor's room. He hadn't often been there alone, and never on a good day.  


	2. Chapter 2

They used to sleep in their own rooms and seek each other out when sleep brought terrors and dreamsharing was the only way to rest. But after so many nights of the Doctor's nightmares, it had seemed expedient to sleep together by default. As the more skilled telepath, the Master led both their dreams and finally the Doctor managed to rest.

When they'd first started out together, the Doctor had had to help the Master sleep. He'd been too ill to control his own mind or body reliably and, after living terrified, feral, and half dying in the rough, far too anxious to relax even a little. But now, despite lingering anxiety, most nights he could carry both their minds easily. His dreamleading was much more effective than the Doctor's kind -but frankly basic and a bit clumsy- efforts.

Of course the Master enjoyed the power of it. Sometimes he'd plant little ideas in the dream and smirk mysteriously the next day when the Doctor told him of some sudden inspiration they'd had.  That the ideas were increasingly lacking in malice didn't matter in the least. It was the principle that mattered, and in principle he _could_ still influence the Doctor any way he liked.  

This was the Master’s kind of fun and nothing could stop him making trouble with his mind. Except, of course, his mind itself. Whenever pain and noise started to shut it down, even though he knew it was probably temporary, he felt like he was losing not just his favourite tool (or toy?) but his entire self.

More than once an attack had caught him by surprise and the closest room to hide away in had been the Doctor's, but they'd always stayed with him, fearing the worst. Even though they shielded it, he knew them too well and he could feel _their_ worry echoing his… the last things in his mind before it went blank. But their warmth was a comfort... and at some level he was surprised that their restlessness hadn't won out, that they'd kept him company every time.

 


	3. Chapter 3

So it was strange to be in the Doctor's room without them.

The Master went straight for the old roll-top desk, which of course was locked. On a whim he tried the TARDIS key that was always around his neck. It fit and he slid the compartment open. What was the Doctor thinking?! Had they never heard of security?! A terrible thought suddenly struck him: had they really no secrets left?! Perhaps he (the Doctor's attachment to their oldest enemy) had been one of their last. Still, old instincts told him he'd best get looking just in case.

The desk was mainly a paper-trail of the Doctor’s nostalgia. Photographs, even things like letters and ticket stubs… Without the satisfaction of being able to organise it for them, the Master soon tired of sorting through the piles of too-innocent junk.

He turned to the wardrobe, thinking it a good pun since a few Earth languages referred to one's secrets as skeletons in a closet. Still, he wasn’t expecting quite as many ghosts as the ones that flew out with the faint smell of naphthalene. The wardrobe, in what the TARDIS must have considered quite a good joke, opened directly into the costume room. Like Narnia (yes, he'd read half the Doctor's library by now), only with less snow and more frock coats, each of them reminding him of increasingly frustrating encounters across their many lives. As he stepped out into the space, the higher ceiling automatically made him want to stand up straighter. He cracked his neck, arched his shoulders back… a bolt of pain cris-crossed his spine and he slumped back to his now-usual slightly hunched posture. It wasn't just from force of habit that he usually stood with his arms folded, he really was trying to hold himself together.

As he was here, he might as well explore the room. He reached into coat pockets expecting to find forgotten treasures, but apparently the otherwise careless Doctor did actually empty their pockets when changing outfits. Still he had a good smile at the Doctor's old clothes, anachronistic at the best of times, but even stranger now that his memory marked them in the Doctor's past. The Master was pleased that he could think of their "past" without looking in the watch that substituted for his damaged temporal lobe, and let him read not only linear time, but the essentials of the web of time as well. He still couldn't even tell what time of day it was without it, though. He wondered where an older model TARDIS like this stored things from the Doctor's future lives... probably wherever she kept her own future selves.

He saw that ridiculous scarf hanging on a hook, and shook his head at the many-coloured stripes, still vivid after so many years. Shaking his head had been a bad idea, though. On a day like today, all his nerves were so raw that it was too easy to set off headaches or worse. He tried to distract himself by retrieving the scarf, shaking out the dust (another bad move, as it set him coughing, which again jostled his head too much), and finally looping it around his neck and shoulders. He'd explored enough to guess there wasn't much new to find here, so he made his way back to the door, and ducked out of the Doctor's wardrobe back into the softer and warmer light of the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

His real worry, though, was that they'd weary of having him around. This is why he went after their secrets, to get either clues or something to use against them. As tiresome as his precarious health was to him, he had at least the will to survive as motivation. They could survive without him, and had. Eventually the Doctor would find the need -and the means- to get rid of him, and any distance (in time or space) between them might be the beginning of it. The TARDIS and the Doctor were his means of survival and he was willing to become (or seem to become) anything to stay.

But the Doctor probably didn’t want a real lasting partner, if you noticed they always chose non-telepaths to be close to. That must be the point of their humans - always someone who couldn’t get inside your head, who couldn't stay forever. (But the Doctor had, finally, chosen him? No, they felt responsible for him; that was different). And could he even stay forever? He wasn't leaving: as mad as they drove him, on some level he knew he'd be madder alone. But while he was no longer actively dying, he wasn’t getting better, either. The Doctor would go on and have other regenerations, but the Master was most likely doomed. And if not as a partner... he was too broken and tired to be a proper enemy anymore, and too mad and lost (and, still, cruel) to be much use as a friend. What was the point of him?!

Shame and cold fear settled in his gut; his heartsrate increased, outpacing the drums; he felt chills. He tried focussing on various items in the room, but his vision swam. To confirm that this was a panic attack, in addition to his usually wonky balance, he felt shaky and ill. Steadying himself first on the desk, then the back of a chair, he made his way across the room. There was nothing for it but to wait it out.   

Even sat on the bed he felt as though he were about to faint. His peripheral vision was glittery and his breaths came shallow and fast. He tried to tell his secondary brain to slow breathing and heartsrates, but concentrating enough to control it was difficult. He looked about for something to focus on and realised he’d still got the Doctor’s old scarf looped around his neck. He was glad of the warmth. He draped the ends over his legs and soon his fingers were tracing the stripes and mends in the knitting. Feeling the texture of the wool and concentrating on the stitches distracted and calmed him like a meditation. He didn't know how long he sat like that, but eventually the panic was fading and he was left exhausted and shaken. He wondered how much of his fear was a product of his damaged mind and how much was justified, but he was too tired to figure it out... too tired to do anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/natalialove/17455896808/in/photolist-NPLpjF-PT3pdi-PupYqA-Q4fJaB-PupH8S-PuofY9-NPMfic-NLYqnC-NPLoVz-PupEsS-PS8qe6-taVUmY-sAw2Y5-qpcicL-p8grWd-na7vH1-npyrrs-mmMikW-mmKReD-jH2ULn-8VcADC-7UeHDG-7UbtWa-7U5wBp-79mKnZ-79mKLx-79mKBB-6U7Xzz-6U7XQn-6UbYC7-6e8zmu-5H7EDm-5oiDc1-5oenSt)


	5. Chapter 5

At some point the Master must have leant back and found the bed too comfortable to get up from. The Doctor found him snoring softly, shivering a bit with nothing to warm him but that ancient scarf. They smiled to think that he'd gone snooping in their things but ended up doing nothing more heinous than borrowing their old clothes.

They undid his boots and slid them off, grimaced at the state of his socks but let them be for now. They retrieved a blanket from a shelf and tucked him up. He made faces and some painful noises in his sleep but didn't wake; he must have been _really_ tired. The Doctor stripped down to t-shirt and pants, then slid in under the blanket, too. Curled around the Master, they listened to his slightly uneven breathing. It had been a more difficult day than expected and they were tired, but sleep would be impossible. The Doctor didn't like to admit it, but they never could get the knack of blocking the nightmares on their own.

To relax a little, and maybe to check up on him, they idly started listening in on the Master's dreams...


End file.
